Lyrical Poems
14. TO HIS BOOK

Robert Her

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If hap it must, that I must see thee lie

Absyrtus-like, all torn confusedly;

With solemn tears, and with much grief of heart,

I'll recollect thee, weeping, part by part;

And having wash'd thee, close thee in a chest

With spice; that done, I'll leave thee to thy rest.

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